Journal of Vaerin Flameborne — Year 748 AE
"The sixth remains unknown.I sought them in the North, beyond the frost gates.They bore no crest. No ring. Only flame, raw and wild,dancing in the wind.They were afraid. They refused the Circle.
And so I left them behind."
Now
The parchment was brittle. My hands shook as I held it under the candlelight in Sabine's study.
"A sixth who was never part of the Circle," I said aloud. "He wrote about her. But didn't name her."
Sabine looked up from a bubbling cauldron. "Then she's the last thread in this knot."
Riven leaned against the window frame. "A rogue Flamekeeper? That's comforting."
I stared at the curling ink again. "She could still be alive."
"Unlikely," Sabine muttered.
"Or... her bloodline might be."
Letter found among Hollowhearth archives — sealed in wax, unsigned
To whoever carries the ring now:
If you read this, then the Sixth was never found.You must listen. She did not reject the Circle out of fear—She saw what it would become. She foresaw the burning of one of our own.She was right.
Find her descendants. They hold the flame that does not follow rules.Only that fire can bind the breach that Vaerin failed to seal.
Look to the Ironpine Wilds.
Now
We left the academy the next morning. No professors, no permissions. Just us, hoods drawn, supplies packed.
The Ironpine Wilds lay far to the north, past the ash plains, where the sky turned white and the flame behaved strangely. Magic was unreliable there. So were maps.
I could feel the pull in my chest as we left the academy gates. Like the ring knew where it wanted to go.
Memory recovered via Conjuration Recall — Dorian Zephyros
"She had hair like lightning and eyes like blackened frost," the memory whispered, the conjured shadow flickering into the shape of a girl."She lit no torch. She was the fire."
"When Vaerin asked her to join, she answered only:'Flame dies when caged.'"
We reached the edge of the Wilds at dusk on the second day.
The trees grew closer here, thicker. Their bark was soot-streaked, and ash coated the ground like frost. The sky was violet and heavy. And the fire—
It flickered sideways.
Even our own magic began to strain. Riven's flames sputtered. Dorian's shadows pulsed unnaturally.
Only my ring still burned bright.
"She's near," I whispered. "I feel it."
Unknown Page — torn, water-stained
I watched them build their circle of embers,thinking they could tame what was born to burn.They feared wildness. They feared me.
But the fire speaks loudest in chaos.And I will not be silenced.
At the center of the glade, where the ash gave way to blackened stone, stood a figure.
Not a memory. Not a ghost.
Real.
She wore a cloak of smoke and frost, and her eyes sparked silver when she looked at me.
"You carry the ring," she said.
I nodded.
"I'm looking for the Sixth Flamekeeper," I said. "Or her kin."
"I am what remains," she answered.
Then her hand rose—and fire erupted behind her, not red or gold, but silver-white, burning in impossible shapes.
"You came to rebuild the Circle," she said.
I nodded again.
She stepped forward.
"Then prove to me your fire still deserves to burn."